


Each uisge

by Dylina



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Horror, Lovecraftian, Mentions twsitd, Mythology References, Shambhala, Violence, Water Horse, Whump, each uisge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:35:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28978977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dylina/pseuds/Dylina
Summary: My reinvention of the myth of the each uisge. The each uisge is a maneating mythological water horse from Scottish folklore which has the appearance of a man with a horses head or a very masculine horse.
Kudos: 1





	Each uisge

Hubert was shrouded in inky ominousness as he explored the giant corridors accented with neon streaks. Shambhala was a disquieting spectacle, an example of how nature could be disregarded and perverted into monstrous designs. Nothing was natural, every surface had a formulaic straightness. Cold and forbidding, the forboding unfussy and symmetrical structures had been built to symbolize an unwavering power. Those who slither in the dark used architecture to intimidate anyone who dared to enter their base. Hubert refused to be intimidated by inanimate objects

Time had become an uncertainty as he snaked through an infinite labyrinth of halls and vestibules. Hours? Days? He did not not how long he had been exploring the incomprehensible neon maze. There was a sameness throughout, a monotony of simplicity which made drawing a mental map difficult. In the darkness there were rumbles of ancient alien mechanisms. When such sounds were heard, Hubert stepped lightly, the alert stance of a deer took hold. At any sign of danger he was ready to retreat back to the surface.

Round and round in a repetitive loop; he ventured deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth. His eyes surveyed manuscripts upon the walls, written in an language he did not understand. Was it propaganda or signposts? Hubert did not know but he still recorded the words for further scrutiny by scholars.

The air was stagnant, the stillness made him long for a breeze. No scent travelled to his nostrils yet there was something which blocked them. He sniffed a few times but the blockade remained, similar to hay fever symptoms. The unseen ceiling at the top of endlessly stretching walls was dizzying. The vast amount of space was unexpectedly the underground, an achievement in scope and design.

He noticed that he had seen the same lights and writing several times. The familiarity provided little comfort, instead he felt lost. Every time he glanced over his shoulder there was nothing there, yet his paranoia convinced him that something was stalking him. All he saw was darkness blending into more darkness, a scenery of black.

Finally he reached a steep staircase, almost vertical in decline. Hubert had to brace himself for the sudden descent. If he wasn't careful he could stumble and he had no idea how far the drop was. There was no banister for support, he had only his balance to rely upon.

Not once did he gaze down into the catacombs below. To look straight ahead was the only defence against vertigo. In his chest his heart trembled as it hid behind bars of ribs. A sickly sensation had developed in his stomach, fear threatened projectile vomiting which fortunately never came. What was the most disarming factor of his descent was the absence of sound from his steps. The steps were solid but reacted like soft sand. Footsteps made a path which was soon swallowed up by the strange material beneath his feet.

He was unsure what melancholy instrument carried the ponderous, mournful dirge to his ear. It was a perversion of wind, of howl and rustling, which was disarmingly persistent. On the walls were obvious amphibologies which had infinite interpretations, more than he could begin to imagine. The monotony of his surroundings began to erode his stamina, wear him down both physically and mentally, and force breathless yawns to be exhaled. Hubert was tempted to stop and rest a little while but his body seemed incapable of such a luxury, instead they waded onwards despite his condition.

Finally he was met with a flash of neon blue which extended beyond his vision and became anfractuous. Newness greeted his ears, making the decision to continue downwards worthwhile, it was the sound of water, not soothing ripples and trickles but cataclysmic thumps of wave. Newness greeted his nostril with the unpleasant scent of sea salt and rotten meat. Hubert had to cover his face with a handkerchief to stop himself vomiting. If the sickly feeling wasn't bothersome enough, something else made every hair stand on end, caused his eyes to widen soo far that they nearly popped from their sockets, made teeth chatter and his heart pulse in fright; It was the sound of a drumming of ghastly borborygmus. He had no idea what caused such an unnerving sound but the only way to find out was to continue downwards.

Continuing downwards; easier said than done. Hubert's feet had become claggy with thick, black clay mud, to lift them required him to use his hands to manually pull them out. With each step in the sticky quagmire the exertion became more extreme. Soon he was grunting and cursing with each movement. In the background waves made thud sounds and the borborygmus continued their eerie performance.

Finally he was greeted with the deep cyanic water, the colour glistened in the gloom. On the surface was foam tinted with a concerning red. Was it blood? Hubert swallowed hard as he knew the answer to his question. It definitely and unmistakable was blood, but from where or who did it orginiate? The erubescent liquid stretched further than the eye could see with no obvious source. He removed a tissue from his pocket and dropped it into the water to see the reaction. Just like normal water, it soaked into the tissue before breaking it up until it was just fibres on the surface. Hubert needed something hard to determine the safety of the water. He removed a toffee from the wrapper and skimmed it across the water as thought it was a pebble. It danced across the water's surface three times before plummeting into the deep. On contact their appeared to be no erosion, so far the water acted normally. Gingerly he reached into the blue, brushing fingertips against the foam. He sighed in relief as he was unharmed. The water was warm, the temperature where coffee started to lose flavour.

How deep was the water? He did not have a clue. It could be bottomless. It could be deceptively shallow. There were too many 'could bes' to risk diving in. It would have been sensible to take a sample and leave. If that was the wise course of action then why wasn't he doing anything? He just stood there gazing into the water with hypnotic intensity.

It breached the water's surface, shattering the waves as though they were glass. The sound of hoof echoed, the repetition of the vibrations failed to decrease in volume. Trot after trot after trot, sound built upon sound until it was a mass of indistinct headache. A mane floated upon the water, silk of embers, long and untamed. Two flared nostrils towed the mane, snorting and smoking as they raised above the foam. Further up the strong nose were two flame lit eyes, unreadable with unfathomable intentions. The beast made a high pitched squeal, a textured sound which cluttered Hubert's ear with information. He was surprised to see the monstrous horse head moving nearer and nearer. Fear pumped his blood around his body enabling him to gasp but not move. The horse head rested upon a thick, powerful neck attached to broad shoulders. Hubert swallowed a whimper as the figure exuded strength. An excess of trembling made his bones rattle as more of the horror was revealed; a muscular humanoid chest and meaty biceps with hands moulded into hoofs. The skin was covered in sleek black oily fur seemingly in constant motion.

Hubert had been caught in the searchlight of violent eyes. He was desperate to run and bury the forbidden city and all the horrors within under rubble. No amount of will could force his limbs into action. All they could do was shake soo frantically that he was knocked him off his feet. No sound was made as he hit the ground, not that he noticed, his attention did not belong to his bruises or the consequences of the fall, but to the fact the beast was just gaits away.

Within a blink of an eye he was face to face with the creature, each snort felt like a heated hurricane against his face. The heat made him sweat in buckets, as though he had just been reclining in a tropical sauna. He had no choice but to stare terrified into the ember eyes of indecipherable intention. They were soulless but beautiful, menacing but bright, impossible but real. In stillness they stood with eyes locked together. This lasted for a few minutes but the mind imagined a eternity.

Suddenly there was movement, the beast spun away and rested upon all four hoofs in the traditional horse pose. It's back began to morph, stretching and indenting sinuously to form a saddle shape. Hubert was amazed at how smooth and painless the transformation seemed. He knew that he should run. Every fiber of his being was screaming "Danger!!!" Yet he found himself drawn to the beast. There was a magnetic pull disabling his ability to run. Yes, he should be running and never looking back over his shoulder. Terror beyond normal fear had gripped but he could not do anything about it. In fact his body was only able to increase the horror. The creature lured him to mount his back and Hubert had no idea how. It was as though the beast was mentally the puppeteer of his body. Mounting the beast was not a sane thing to do, yet he was swinging his leg over and sliding his bottom into the saddle curve. Sirens, loud and piercing, set off in his head as a fatal realisation made his heart sink. The oil fur was an adhesive, escape was not an option when he was stuck like glue to the back. He buried his hands deep into lush mane and held on soo tight that his fingers turned white.

The ride was about to begin; before starting the beast held a rear in mid air for five minutes, his hoofs performed a circle dance which blurred and confused the eyes. Hubert was flung back, his posture an ill shaped arch which caused serious discomfort. On a normal horse he would have fallen backwards upon the ground, but his buttocks were firm in position as he felt his back jar. After rearing the beast galloped atop the water, as graceful as a swan, as perilous as a shark fin. The water rippled beneath the hoofs as the beast ventured further from the stairs.

Heat penetrated from the beast's back through Hubert's crotch, it felt like a water bottle burn. A heartbeat throbbed at irregular intervals, sometimes minutes apart. There was a change in position, a horrendous adjustment to prepare for a jump. The beast's pace remained steady, as a few motivating huffs drove him onwards. All the power was transferred to the back hoofs, his head rose and he leapt into the air. Instinctively the beast streamlined himself, spreading out his stumpy limbs in a majestic display. If water wasn't dived into in the correct manner then it would feel like concrete, the beast used his hoofs to pierce the water and stab into aquatic depths.

In the first few seconds of drowning Hubert was possessed by panic as he realised his fate. There was a fine balance between fight or flight as he struggled to breathe. His arms flailed aimlessly, seeking something, anything to grab hold of but there was nothing. All his efforts appeared futile as he thrashed his body in the saddle, attempting to unstick himself. Involuntary actions hampered his efforts as he started to hold his breathe to stop more water flowing within. Time was ticking, peril was near, death seemed an inevitability. Darkness, it came in slowly, his vision faded into nothingness as his body became still. Breathing slow, a feeble attempt by the body to survive against all odds as the heart slowed, almost to a halt. The pale porcelain of his skin turned blue as his body jerked in consecutive seizes. There was no control, no unconscious, the end was nigh.

Hubert was beyond the point of revival. His lungs, heart and brain had been rended useless. All that was mortal was gone, only meat remained. Fierce jagged teeth ripped through flesh, skinning him with brutality. Red filled the water of the undersea butchery as tender muscle was devoured. Whinny was the sound of contentment and the beast made waves with his satisfaction as the meat was relished. Cartilage, bone, marrow, entrails, brain, all were digested without any thought of the soul that once resided within. Hubert had been prey and he was the predator, it was nature. At the end of the meal all that was left was the liver which floated up to the surface; a horrible discovery for someone. Fed and satisfied, the creature once again fell domain in the neon bloodbath.


End file.
